


Love Eternal

by rinsled05



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Love at First Sight, M/M, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Reincarnation, Soulmates, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 20:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16583837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinsled05/pseuds/rinsled05
Summary: Viktor and Yuuri are soulmates, bound to fall in love in every era, every universe, every new life. In this reincarnation, they’re both figure skaters, and Viktor falls for Yuuri first.[Written for Yuri on Ice Litmag Issue 2]





	Love Eternal

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to the YOI Litmag organizers for the opportunity!

Soulmates, bound together for eternity. Across history, across time and space, names change—roles and traits and skills—but one thing is ever constant: they will meet and fall in love without fail. Again, and again, and again.

Sometimes it takes an instant to recognize each other, sometimes years. Sometimes the flood of memories ignites their love, sometimes it’s love that triggers their return. This time, the name of one half is Viktor Nikiforov, the figure skater immortalized as the “living legend”, grown weary of his routine and consecutive golds across World Championships, Grand Prix Finals.

Until he fell for a drunk Japanese skater at the banquet and _remembers._

Remembers dancing, nose-to-nose, with the prince of a neighboring kingdom, struck by the same honey-brown eyes, the same impossibly long eyelashes. Remembers watching, on his throne, mesmerized by a common slave dancer with the same curves, the same sultry gaze beneath the clear veil. Remembers teaching a courtesan the waltz in a room lit by candles, enchanted by the way the shadows flicker across that same soft flush of wonder and delight. 

Viktor knew there was more to life than the crowd-pleasing smiles, the flash of cameras dogging his every move. He wants and wants now, this other half of his soul, but he sees the clouds of inebriation in the other’s eyes, in his breath, and Viktor knows: it’s too soon. Too soon, just judging by their first actual encounter, when Viktor’s sunny gesture— _ah, a commemorative photo?_ —failed.

So Viktor waits. Bides his time and waits for a sign. Memories tell him that it will happen, that love will come, naturally, inevitably. That his soul-half will see him and remember. Only once did the memories return too late – one fragment of a second after his blade plunged in, after he realized, chest caving, what he had done. ( _Only once_ , Viktor thinks vehemently.) At the practice rink, he throws himself into choreographing routines that express his love and yearning, his desire and want. _On Love: Agape and Eros._ Like his past selves, he will have Yuuri dance for him, a perfect reflection of Viktor’s soul.

And then his soul-half offers his heart in a video— _will you be my coach?_ , it all but screams—and Viktor goes to him without thought. Makkachin prances by his side, Yakov’s screams ring in his ears.

But Yuuri Katsuki—for that is his new name—is shy. Scared and in his own head, a ball of nerves in one beautiful, chubby frame. When Viktor touches him (again) for the first time, fingers on the round chin, skin tingling with want – he bolts, shrieking, face a brilliant shade of red. Viktor’s hurt, of course, but he soldiers on. It will happen, it _has_ to be happen. The spark isn’t always instantaneous, and that’s all right.

Then Yuri happens; Yurio, now.

The teenager lights a spark in Yuuri, of determination and not love. But a spark is a spark, and Viktor cannot wait to set it aflame.

On the ice, he touches Yuuri again. Wonders how it would feel to press his mouth on the softness of that bottom lip, the hard line of that newly angled jaw. “No one in the whole wide world knows your true Eros,” he whispers with memories of past dalliances, of damp breaths, slick fingers, and naked ankles. Of _Yuuri_ in this time, this life, tight little shorts clinging sinfully to the curve of his ass as he twirls ‘round and ‘round a silver pole. “Can you show me what it is soon?”

When Yuuri doesn’t pull away, his eyes gone wide, Viktor wonders for a moment if maybe, just maybe, Yuuri’s getting there, oh-so-close.

“I got it! Pork cutlet bowls! That’s what Eros is to me!”

Or not.

For a while—for eternity—it moves along those lines, a maddening sort of push and pull. Until he drags Yuuri to the beach, until Yuuri opens his heart to him, sees him as Viktor Nikiforov and no one else. Suddenly, above the thuds of his heart, the pressure lifts, and he remembers the one thing he had forgotten:

Here, now, forever, he loves Yuuri Katsuki and that’s all that matters.

It’s when Viktor lets go that he sees the slow, gradual change. Instead of flinching, Yuuri leans into his touch. Instead of flailing, Yuuri presses their foreheads together and demands to have Viktor’s eyes on him and only him. Each time, Viktor’s heart swells too big for his chest, and he knows now what it means to have loved his soul-half unconditionally across centuries, cultures, civilizations. 

But then he breaks Yuuri. Shatters that fragile glass heart as he had done so many years ago, when Yuuri was a noble, and he, an undeserving servant. Left Yuuri to protect his lover in the past, just as he threatens to do in the present.

But Yuuri cries, and Viktor is lost. Years of memories and experience, yet he’s still a novice when it comes to dealing with emotions. (Perhaps their love isn’t the only thing that remains constant.)

“Should I just kiss you?” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“ _No_!”

Yuuri straightens. The tears are pouring now, a steady stream of hot frustration. Before Viktor can react, his shout echoes through the parking lot, pierces straight through Viktor’s heart. “Have more faith than I do that I’ll win! You don’t have to say anything, _just stand by my side_!”

It strikes Viktor then, the depth of his ignorance, how little thought he has put into his role as a coach. As _Yuuri’s_ coach.

Chest tight, he can only wait for Yuuri’s shoulders to stop shaking, for Yuuri’s sobs and hiccups to cease. Can only stay by Yuuri’s side, wordless, all the way to the rink. For once, Viktor can’t gauge where Yuuri is at, doesn’t understand when Yuuri prods at the whorl in his hair then pats his head after. Can’t read the meaning behind Yuuri’s smile as the music for the free skate begins.

However, there is one thing that Viktor does understand.

When Yuuri dances, for himself, it’s not Eros, not a reflection of Viktor’s desire and want. This is Yuuri, all Yuuri – _Yuuri on ice_. He slips on the triple axel, touches the cold surface with his fall, only to slide flawlessly into the next part of his routine, recovering just as Viktor does. There’s a strength to Yuuri that was missing in the dim parking lot, a natural, unassuming beauty that Viktor wants to capture and hold onto forever.  

Then, it happens.

One mad leap in the air, a quadruple flip with four full rotations at the end of his routine. Yuuri’s conviction—his love—in actions, far louder than words.

Viktor’s face falls into his hands, his heart thundering in his ears. He knew it would come, but this – _this_ exceeds everything. He wants to return the bold move, wants to show his love to Yuuri, to the world. His feet carry him to the kiss-and-cry, where Yuuri is gliding up to him, arms and heart open wide.

 “I did great, right?” Yuuri says, so bright and warm and beautiful that Viktor makes his own leap without hesitation.

Yuuri’s mouth is hot and sweet as the breath that catches in his throat. Viktor sighs against him, hands cradling Yuuri’s head against the fall. They land on the ice to the sound of raucous cheers, but Viktor’s thoughts are filled only of Yuuri’s lips, his body, his warmth. When he pulls away, he sees the light dawn in brown eyes, the pupils dilate as the memories return.

It all takes but a second, then Yuuri gazes up at him through a fan of lashes. “How long have you been waiting?” he asks, softly, and Viktor’s heart skips a beat, maybe two.

“Forever,” he says, before Yuuri laughs and tugs him down for a second kiss.

 

* * *

 

The night is spent reminiscing on their romance through the ages. Ancient Greece, the Edo period of Japan, the Victorian era of England, the prohibition years of the United States. With both their memories restored, intimacy comes easy for them. Their naked limbs tangle in bed, foreheads pressed together as they’ve always had. 

“Has there ever been a time when I loved you first?” Yuuri murmurs. His fingers trace the curve of Viktor’s hips as he speaks, a searing trail over bare skin. Viktor breathes, feels his cock jump at the touch. Yuuri is a tease, always has been.

“A few times.” Viktor slips his fingers into the black strands, silky and damp from the shower. As soon as they returned to the hotel **,** they had reacquainted themselves to each other’s bodies under the warm blast of water, hands and mouths mapping out the familiar lines and curves, planes and dips. But it’s not enough, it’s never enough. “It’s often just a crush of some sort. Nothing more.”

Yuuri’s laugh is a happy sound that spreads, thickly, through Viktor’s being. “Mari told you.”

“Mari told me many things, in exchange for photographs of Yurio as a child.”

Yuuri wrinkles his nose. “That sounds unsettling somehow." 

Humming, Viktor nuzzles into Yuuri’s neck, drops feather-light kisses. He’s in no mood to discuss the finer details of Mari’s obsession over the younger boy. Not right now when all he wants is to quench his thirst and drink his fill of Yuuri. “Do you remember? When you were a pirate and I was an officer of the Royal Navy?” 

Yuuri sighs, head tilting, giving Viktor more access. “What about it?”

“Do you remember our little ‘meetings’ in the captain’s cabin?” Viktor nips at an earlobe; sucks it gently between his lips, then his teeth. Relishes in Yuuri’s shudder against him. “The way you cried out as I pressed you, hard, into the wall? The way you begged and moaned as I opened you with my fingers? Filled you with my throbbing, hard—”

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, voice gone low and hoarse.

“Hmmm?”

“You talk too much,” he says before he crushes their mouths together.

It’s different from their kiss on the ice. This one feels raw, primal, as if the world is ending and they’re the last ones standing. As if they’re in the trenches again, the smell of death and despair around them, never knowing their next tomorrow. And Viktor remembers, how each of Yuuri’s past incarnations could make him submit to their every wish. Make him _want_ to submit.

Moaning, Viktor curls his tongue against Yuuri’s, invites him in. Palms his ass and drags him close, both hissing at the press of Yuuri’s erection against his own. It’s funny, how everything is so familiar and yet so novel: the feel, the smell, the taste of Yuuri. He has had Yuuri in so many different shapes and forms—a prince, a soldier, a pirate, a slave—but not Yuuri Katsuki, the figure skater - his student and first love.

Gently, Viktor rolls Yuuri onto his back. Breaks away to follow the spread of Yuuri’s flush with open-mouthed kisses, from his cheeks to his neck, his chest, his stomach. Revels in the hitch of Yuuri’s breath, the arch of his back, as his mouth brushes the smooth skin of Yuuri’s thighs. And Viktor’s own breath catches when he looks up, when he sees a glimpse of Yuuri’s tousled hair and stained cheeks, those plush lips parted, soft and pink.

God, he’s beautiful.

Beautiful here, on the ice, at the banquet. Beautiful in every reincarnation, in every possible way. And Viktor wants to show it all to Yuuri, how happy he is, how _lucky_. Wants to show Yuuri his desire for an everlasting story of their love, a romance novel without an ending.

So he starts by fitting his hand around the shaft of Yuuri’s hardened length. Strokes, slowly, down to the base. Enjoys the feel of the soft skin beneath his palm, mouth curving as Yuuri pushes up into him. “Yuuri.” He leans down, breath ghosting the underside of Yuuri’s cock, Yuuri’s thighs twitching against the sides of his face. “Can I…?”

“Please,” Yuuri chokes out, and Viktor’s brought back to that cabin again, with Yuuri’s breath hot on his jaw, Yuuri’s hands clutching at his shoulders, Yuuri’s heels digging into the small of his back. Even with his uniform on, the cold press of his coat buttons making Yuuri shiver, Viktor felt Yuuri everywhere they touched. Felt the rapid pulse of Yuuri’s heart against his, fast and hard and full.

“Viktor, what are you- ah!”

Viktor flicks his tongue again, a second taste, before he runs it, deliberately, up the base of Yuuri’s cock to the tip. Watches Yuuri’s head fall back, baring the slender column of his throat. Watches Yuuri’s lips part in a gasp as he wraps his own lips around the head and swallows Yuuri down. Viktor likes that, in this lifetime, he is Yuuri’s first. Loves that no one has—and will ever—make Yuuri look like _this_ , like he’s drunk on pleasure, a flavor of paradise.

The thought makes Viktor groan.

And when Yuuri’s fingers tighten in his hair, he groans harder.

“God,” Yuuri says. “God, I’ve forgotten how - how good you are at - ”

Viktor pulls off with a slick sound and Yuuri’s words catch in his throat. “At what?” he purrs, leaning in to nuzzle Yuuri’s thigh. “Tell me, Yuuri. What am I good at?”

Yuuri laughs, shakily. “I don’t think you need the ego boost.”

“Oh, but I do,” Viktor croons. “That way, I’ll know what you like. So I can do it again-” A scrape of teeth and tongue across heated skin, “-and again-” Up the length of Yuuri’s cock, “-and again.” Ending with a kiss just beneath the crown.

Judging by the way Yuuri’s muscles strain beneath the palms on his hips, the way his mouth has fallen open, lost for words, Viktor knows—unlike his coaching—that he’s doing things exactly right. Heart singing, he moves back in without waiting for an answer. Rises up and sucks Yuuri down until Yuuri’s moans turn to babbling in Japanese and English.

How many times has he done this in the past? Driven Yuuri so close to the edge that he writhes and squirms, fingers scrabbling at the sheets? Hundreds of times, maybe thousands. And yet it doesn’t get old. And yet—Viktor’s throat clenches around the head as he swallows, reveling in the sight, the _sounds_ , of Yuuri completely, utterly, losing his mind—it will _never_ get old.

“ _Onegai_ ,” Yuuri whines, so soft and keen that Viktor’s cock throbs. “Please, Viktor. Viktor - _atama ga_ \- _atama ga okashinaru_. I can’t- _hahh_.” His hips buck, but Viktor presses him down, holds him steady. “Stop, _please_ \- I’m going to- I’m-”

When Yuuri comes, fingers dragging across his scalp, Viktor swallows all of it, eager for everything Yuuri has to offer. Lets Yuuri ride through it—savoring the taste, the smell of Yuuri—until the grip loosens in his hair, the tremors cease, and Yuuri’s tugging him up for a deep, thorough kiss.

“You didn’t have to,” he starts, but Viktor cuts him off with a finger to his lips.

“I wanted to,” Viktor says, running his knuckles down the curve of Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri’s smile lights up the room. “Your turn,” he says, lashes fanning over warm eyes, and Viktor forgets to breathe. “What would you like?”

Images flash through Viktor’s mind: of Yuuri’s back pressed to the sheets, the wall, the writing desk; of his legs and ass spread apart, his eyes dark as molasses, cheeks flushed pink. Of Viktor shaking as he comes across Yuuri’s belly, inside Yuuri’s thighs, inside _Yuuri_.

“Anything,” Viktor blurts out, his voice rough with need. He’s so hard at this point that one brush from Yuuri’s fingers will surely send him over the brink. “Anything and everything you’ll give me.”

Yuuri laughs. “That’s not very specific.”

“Yuu~ri.” Viktor pouts. “You’re stalling.”

“No.” Yuuri kisses him, brushing his bangs off his forehead. “I’m teasing.”

“How is that different from—”

Viktor nearly swallows his tongue when Yuuri wraps his fingers around his shaft and strokes down, right down to the thick base.

“You like that?” Yuuri slows his strokes when Viktor lets out a moan. With his memories back, he seems to have found his true Eros, seems determined to show Viktor just what it is. (What it _was_.) _Such a good student_ , Viktor thinks hazily, before Yuuri’s hot breath gusts over Viktor’s ear.

“Or maybe you’d rather come on me instead?”

Heat sears Viktor to the core, pulses through his veins. To decorate Yuuri and mark the man as his? He would, oh, he very much would. Yuuri must have read the resounding _fuck yes, Yuuri,_ on Viktor’s face, for he releases Viktor and wordlessly falls back against the pillow. Spreads out before him, eyes beckoning, the smooth plane of his bare chest rising, falling. Ready and waiting.

Sweat beads on Viktor’s forehead from the sheer effort it takes for him to not come right then and there, but he rises, somehow, to sit on his heels, keeping his place—and his alone—between Yuuri’s thighs. Takes himself in hand, watching as Yuuri’s hot gaze falls from his face to the movement of his hand around his cock.

It doesn’t take long. Not with Yuuri so pliant beneath him, with Yuuri touching himself like the minx he is, fingers against his nipples. But it’s Yuuri’s sweet voice that is Viktor’s final undoing, the sigh of _Viktor_ in three distinct syllables. He comes with Yuuri’s name on his lips, trembling and trembling as the waves roll through him, as he adorns Yuuri’s skin with hot, white strips. 

For a moment, Viktor kneels there between Yuuri’s legs, taking deep breaths, heart slowing. Yuuri’s smiling up at him, eyes bright and skin flushed, bangs falling across his forehead. ( _Beautiful_ , Viktor decides for the millionth time.) “How was my Eros, coach?” he asks.

“Exceeds expectations,” Viktor says, before he leans down to swallow Yuuri’s laugh with a kiss.

They could bring each other to hardness again, go another round or two, but Viktor chooses to get a towel and wipe Yuuri down instead. Chooses to curl around Yuuri and talk in hushed voices, fingers laced on the shared pillow, about their past, their present, their future.

There will be another time. There will always be another time. 

 

* * *

 

Another time turns out to be right after the short program of the Rostelecom Cup.

It was supposed to be a celebration of Yuuri showing his love to the whole of Russia, with Viktor showing _his_ love in the privacy of their hotel room. But Viktor is catching the next possible flight to his poor Makkachin that night, so there’s a sort of sadness in their lovemaking instead - touches that linger, kisses that cling and whisper _I’ll miss you_ on soft skin. 

There’s no talking this time.

Viktor learns, quickly, that Yuuri is insatiable in this lifetime, the stamina of his body going far beyond any of his previous reincarnations. He learns, too, that he has an inordinate fascination for Yuuri’s feet, something that he indulges in tonight, sucking and pulling each toe between his teeth. They come three times before they fall asleep in each other’s arms, Yuuri’s head pillowed against Viktor’s chest. Before Viktor has to leave, heart heavy in his chest.

It’s hard, being away from Yuuri. His family is accommodating, their kindness crossing all barriers, but Viktor can’t stop thinking about his lover. How can he, when their love transcends time, the very passage of the moon and sun in the sky? His worry hovers like a dark cloud, above the affection he feels for Yuuri’s family, the relief he feels for Makkachin’s rapid recovery. Is Yakov treating Yuuri well? Is Yuuri getting along with the other skaters? _Is Yuuri panicking with no one to soothe or comfort him?_

Viktor breathes again, only after Yuuri’s free program speaks volumes on the TV screen: _I’m fine; together, we’ll aim for gold_. When they reunite, with Yuuri’s heartfelt declaration and Makkachin by their side, there’s an unspoken need to just hold each other, and that’s exactly what they do, cuddled together in one indistinguishable pile on Viktor’s bed.

It’s in Barcelona that Christophe points out the obvious, something that Viktor has chosen to ignore.

“You haven’t fucked, have you?”

Viktor looks up at Christophe through wet bangs, who looks back at him with a raised brow and a quirked mouth. “Must you be so crude?”

Christophe leans back against the edge of the pool, bare shoulders rolling in a shrug. “But really, Viktor. If you’re eternal soulmates who’ve had mind-blowing sex since the dawn of time, surely you would have...” He curls one hand into a fist, slides a thumb through the gap with the other. “... done the dirty by now?”

“All right,” Viktor chuckles. “It _is_ better when you just say ‘fuck’.”

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Christophe drawls.

Why _haven’t_ they ‘done the dirty’?

It’s not without lack of trying on Viktor’s part. But Yuuri has a way of distracting him, of making sure they finish in ways that don’t involve penetration.

Viktor carries that question with him all the way through their shopping spree, up ‘til Yuuri’s proposal. With the choir singing in the background, the cathedral glowing an ethereal white behind them, the scene can’t have been more perfect. Viktor is ecstatic, but he’d known this was coming, had felt it in his bones. He just hadn’t expected it to happen quite so soon. But it gives him an answer to Chris’s question: Yuuri must be waiting for the perfect moment.

And what better moment can there be than the night of a perfect proposal, a culmination of their long history of promised love?

But, to Viktor’s disappointment, it doesn’t happen that night.

Yuuri must want to stay fresh for his routine, Viktor reasons. Not that the thought puts him in the mood for Yurio’s provocations the next morning. After Yurio stalks off, he turns to gaze at the sun peeking over the horizon in the distance, the sparkles of light on the clear waters. A light breeze brushes against his bangs, reminding him of Hasetsu, of Yuuri’s family. Of home.

Viktor inhales. Right, there’s no rush. There’s always time, if not in this lifetime, then another. They’re not in rival kingdoms or deep in the trenches, fighting for their lives. They’re figure skaters and—as much as Viktor misses the rush of a performance, the thrill of the crowd’s cheers—he’s Yuuri’s coach in this life, and always will be.

“After the Finals, let’s end this.”

But of course, Yuuri is _Yuuri_ in this life. And Yuuri Katsuki is an anxious overthinker, eager to please and wanting the best for Viktor. Just because he loves Viktor, just because his memories have returned, doesn’t mean he will fight to spend forever with Viktor like some of his previous incarnations. No, Yuuri would rather play the role of the selfless one, retiring so Viktor can return to the ice.

Except he’s being so damn _selfish_ that Viktor has trouble breathing, tremors running through his body. He doesn’t feel the hot tears pouring down his cheeks until Yuuri reaches out, makes some flippant remark about his crying. Oh, right. _He_ ’s Viktor Nikiforov in this lifetime, the legendary figure skater who fell for a Japanese skater at the GPF banquet and became his coach. And the thought of Yuuri’s retirement shatters his heart— _Viktor’s_ heart—to pieces.

“How can you tell me to return to the ice when you’re retiring?” he gasps.

Yuuri’s look is stricken, confused.

“And another thing,” Viktor continues, words spilling past his lips. “Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

Eyes wide, Yuuri pushes his glasses up his nose. “Haven’t we had plenty of—”

“You know what I mean.”

A beat, then Yuuri flushes, averting his gaze. “I don’t know. It just… never felt right.”

The tears stream faster. “To have sex with _me_?”

Yuuri’s head snaps back, palms raised. “No, that’s not it! I love sex with you! You make me feel so good, and I really like making _you_ feel good! It’s just… I…” His hands fall to his lap, bottom lip drawn between his teeth. “I want to know what we are first. As Yuuri and Viktor.”

Viktor frowns, eyes darting to the glint of gold on Yuuri’s hand. “I would’ve thought that obvious.”

Nodding, Yuuri fingers the ring. “Yes, but… do you love me as Yuuri, or just because of our shared history?”

For a moment, Viktor stares at him. Then, softly, incredulously, “Yuuri, I love _you_. You, and all of you in the past, but I fell for _you_ first. At the GPF banquet, when you danced, and twirled, and begged me to be your coach.”

Yuuri’s blush spreads as slow and sweet as the smile that pulls at his mouth. “Oh,” he says.

They decide to each make their own decisions after the free skate.

But how is Viktor supposed to decide? He does want to return to the ice—to dance for Yuuri and show _his_ love this time—but he can’t possibly give up coaching Yuuri. When Yuuri hands over his skate guards and steps onto the ice, Viktor shakes his head, jaw clenching.

Right now, he’s still Yuuri coach, and Yuuri’s free skate takes precedence.

“I really want to kiss gold,” Viktor whispers, tugging Yuuri close. Yuuri’s eyes widen before he lets out a shaky laugh, quivers in Viktor’s arms.

The surge of pride in Viktor is indescribable, as Yuuri proceeds to give the best performance of his entire career. Lands his declaration of love so flawlessly that the ripple of gasps in the audience reverberate through the rink.

It’s not gold, but it breaks Viktor’s record, and above the pride of a coach races a different kind of thrill up Viktor’s spine – that same feeling he had when they engaged in battle as sworn enemies, when they began an illicit affair despite their stations. So when Yuuri declares that he wants Viktor to be his coach until he gets gold, Viktor’s decision is clear.

As is Yuuri’s when they return to their hotel room.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, the zipper of his costume pulled down halfway. He’s looking over his shoulder on the bed, eyelashes swept down, lips soft and kissable and tipped up at the corners. The hard wings of his shoulder blades are bared, Viktor’s eyes drawn instantly to the smooth line of his back.

“Fuck me?”

_Oh._

Viktor goes immediately, fingers of one hand ripping his tie out, the other tipping Yuuri’s chin up for a deep kiss. Kisses Yuuri a second time, just because, before he pulls away to shed his coat, his shirt. Yuuri reaches for his belt and pants, slipping both off with deft fingers, and Viktor bends over to capture Yuuri’s mouth again, his own hands drawing Yuuri’s zipper the rest of the way down.

They have time, they do. But Yuuri’s tongue is pressing against his, Yuuri’s thighs are spreading, open and inviting, and Viktor wants Yuuri. Wants to feel Yuuri under and around him, wants to hear the stutter of breath when Yuuri comes.

Viktor kicks off his shoes and his briefs, smiling at the way Yuuri’s gaze drops to watch the movement, cheeks flushed. Smiles, wider, when Yuuri folds back onto the sheets, looking up at him with eyes gone dark with desire. He kneels on the mattress between Yuuri’s legs, presses his mouth in a hot trail down Yuuri’s neck and chest. Savors the taste of skin and sweat and _Yuuri_. It’s intoxicating, this gift that is Yuuri, a drug that Viktor craves more with each touch, each open-mouthed kiss.

 “Lube,” Yuuri sighs, fingers threading into Viktor’s hair. “Did you bring any—”

“Yes,” Viktor says without hesitation. Yuuri’s laugh hitches in his throat when Viktor sucks a bruise just above his collarbone in punishment. “You can’t blame me for hoping.”

“Mmhm,” is all Yuuri says, but his eyes are soft, his mouth curled. Viktor drops a kiss on Yuuri’s jaw before he pulls away to step over to their luggage. Throws it open and flings out clothes, rummaging for the small tube. Of course, just when all he wants is to go back to Yuuri—who’s watching with half-lidded eyes, cock curved to his belly—the very thing he needs is impossible to find.

Yuuri is laughing again, low and throaty. “If you can’t find it, there’s always next time…”

“ _Found it_ ,” Viktor exclaims, holding up the tube as if it’s a gold medal. He returns to Yuuri’s embrace, stealing one kiss, another, for his victory. Swiftly, he snaps the lid open, slicks his fingers with lube as Yuuri shifts beneath him, air rushing through his nose in a hard exhale. Despite all his teasing, it’s clear that Yuuri wants Viktor just as much as Viktor wants him, and Viktor is only too glad to yield.

So he makes fast work of it. Slips a finger in, then two, taking in the way Yuuri trembles and hisses, the way his eyelashes flutter, pulse ticking wildly in his neck. Viktor leans in to scrape his teeth across that pulse, feel it jump against his tongue as he scissors his fingers, opening Yuuri, just for him.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, breathless and desperate, nails deep in Viktor’s back. “ _Viktor_ …”

Nodding, Viktor understands. He reaches for the lube, slicks his fingers again. Strokes himself once, up and down, before he guides himself to Yuuri’s entrance. For a few seconds, he stays there, the head of his cock rubbing against Yuuri, until Yuuri sobs and _begs_. And then he presses in, in, sinking in till he’s _home_ , with Yuuri so hot—so perfect—around him, and god, oh god, this is better than he anticipated, better than he remembers.

Viktor draws out and rolls back in again, face tucked in the curve of Yuuri’s neck. Feels Yuuri’s breath against his shoulder, Yuuri’s legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, as they rock together. Nothing in the air but their harsh pants and the hitch in Yuuri’s throat with each thrust.

“I love you,” Viktor breathes, “I love you, Yuuri Katsuki, I love you so, so much—”

And that does it - unravels everything between them and pushes Yuuri over the edge. Yuuri comes with a moan, back arching, cheeks pink and mouth open wide. Viktor’s fingers dig into Yuuri’s hips, the tight clench and sweet beauty beneath sending him over the precipice, buried deep inside Yuuri.

They breathe together then, mouths clinging, hearts beating as one. “I love you too, Viktor Nikiforov,” Yuuri sighs against him, and the ache in Viktor’s chest is familiar and so very welcome.

Soulmates, bound together for eternity. This time, they’re figure skaters, student and coach and fellow competitors. And Viktor cannot want for more—with Yuuri by his side—for the rest of this lifetime and the next, the next, and the next. An endless cycle of time and love they have for this, for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rinsled05/works) or come squeal with me on tumblr @ [dreaming-fireflies](http://dreaming-fireflies.tumblr.com/).


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